Several bees emerged and flew towards Peter.
The servant stumbled back a step, lost his balance, and fell against the stack of hives behind him.
Dislodged, the topmost rolled down and hit the ground an arm’s length from Peter. On impact its back popped off.
Peter’s eyes widened in horror.
John leapt forward to pull him away from the angry swarm of bees.
Except none appeared.
Nothing spilled from the opened hive except a bundle of dirty rags.
John bent and picked it up.
A yellowing bone fell out.
He yanked at the string tied around the bundle. A medallion hung from it.
John glared at Apollo. “That’s an ecclesiastical seal. What are you doing with a hive full of relics?”
Apollo looked astonished. “Excellency, I have no idea. Someone has taken advantage of me. Alas! What did the villains do to the poor bees that were in there? For all I know my beauties are wandering Alexandria, homeless!”
***
Since Apollo continued to profess ignorance about the surprising contents of his hive, John decided to ask Melios how much he knew about the itinerant beekeeper who took advantage of his hospitality every year.
As he reached the row of palms shading the side of the headman’s house he heard his name spoken.
There was an argument going on inside the building.
On further listening, it seemed he was mistaken since the subject under heated discussion did not involve him.
“As for your assessments, Scrofa, I have declared everything!”
The voice belonged to Melios. It came through an unshuttered window a few paces away.
“Anyone who claims I have hidden anything can be brought here to accuse me to my face!” Melios went on. “In fact, I insist upon it! People better have proof of their outrageous claims! Hidden assets indeed! I wish I had assets to hide! I told your predecessor the same thing last year when Dedi, that miserable charlatan, tried to get me into difficulties with the authorities.”
“Yes, so I heard. In fact, I was instructed to closely examine this Dedi,” came the reply in quiet Greek. “However, I always begin my work of assessment with the headman of a settlement. After all, isn’t he the most important person in the area?”
“Certainly!” Melios sounded mollified by the tactful reply. “I shall be happy to open my accounts for your inspection first thing tomorrow morning if that would suit you. I’d have had them available immediately had you not arrived early this year.”
“That will be acceptable, Melios.”
The scrape of a stool and closing of a door announced the tax assessor was leaving.
Egypt was a simple country as well as a superstitious one, John thought. In Constantinople wise men did not conduct personal business beside open windows.
He lingered outside, looking after the departing man before entering the house. Though many who toiled in the imperial administration tended to be thin of frame, Scrofa was broad-shouldered and well-muscled. He was obviously a man in excellent physical condition, one who would be difficult to intimidate and doubtless chosen specially for the job when the time came around to undertake the highly unpopular task of yearly tax assessments.
Melios was in the reception hall where he had entertained John before. He appeared agitated, but he greeted his unexpected visitor warmly enough. “Lord Chamberlain, I was going to seek you out. What brings you to my door?”
“I wish to question you about the beekeeper.”
“Apollo? He’s been visiting me for some time now. He supplies me with honey in return for allowing him to keep his bees here for a few weeks every year. It’s a simple arrangement, one with which we are both happy.”
“A few pots of honey are not much of a fee for the privilege of staying here,” John pointed out. “Given the tax problems you’ve mentioned, I’d expect you to charge more.”
Melios’ womanish mouth tightened. “Well, I don’t. May I ask you the reason for your interest?”
“I have just discovered that Apollo appears to be smuggling religious relics in his hives.”
Melios did not seem either shocked or offended. “Is he? It’s nothing to do with me, excellency! For all I know he’s decided to start selling them to Dedi’s pilgrims. After all, my own head gardener sells flasks of sacred oil to visitors. That sort of transaction is commonplace here and in many other places, Lord Chamberlain.”
Melios paused. His gaze turned to the depictions of Constantinople scenes adorning the walls. “You are a cosmopolitan man, Lord Chamberlain. I am deeply honored you and your party are my guests. Such men as yourself are always welcome in my household, but I see so few of them. We two are men of culture and learning, students of philosophy, and lovers of the arts, isn’t that true?”
“You flatter me, Melios.”
“I only speak the truth. I mentioned I had been about to seek you out. I wished to inform you of a small gathering I’ve planned in your honor. At least we can put this nasty business of the sheep behind us for an evening.”
Chapter Twenty-six
Anatolius felt uneasy as he labored up the steep street toward the monumental cross marking Senator Symacchus’ house. He was not being entirely truthful with either Felix or Europa. What would they think when they found out?
Could they be of more assistance if he shared his knowledge? John’s life was at stake, as well as the lives of Cornelia and Peter.
Assassins left no witnesses.
He had his doubts about Thomas.
Except for the fact that Europa remained in Constantinople, Anatolius would not have been surprised if Thomas took to his heels rather than travel to Egypt to warn John. On the other hand, Thomas had lingered in the city after talking to Anatolius after John’s departure.
That proved he did not intend to flee.
Didn’t it?
Anatolius tried to put his misgivings aside. He couldn’t help thinking how vulnerable John would be in Egypt. The wise man was always wary at the palace. In Egypt, John would have no reason to be alert for the stealthy footstep, the sidelong glance, the shadowy figure moving around the corner. In a place where everything was unfamiliar, would John be able to sense the subtle disturbance of the normal that signaled danger?
Surely John would not let down his guard?
A stray dog loped toward him, blunt nails clicking on the street. The animal’s ribs were visible. It wrinkled its muzzle and growled. Anatolius shouted a lurid curse and the dog turned tail and ran.
If only all problems could be so easily solved.
Anatolius’ rap on the senator’s door was again answered by the slim, deep-voiced servant Diomedes.
“I’m assisting the Quaestor with the senator’s estate,” Anatolius explained. “I’ve come to retrieve certain items to deliver to a legatee.” He presented Diomedes with the authorization Perigenes had provided. It had been an unwise move, Anatolius felt, because there would surely be claims on the estate that would cause numerous administrative difficulties. It would be as well for Perigenes if he found a buyer for his position as soon as possible.
Diomedes led Anatolius down a hallway adorned with crosses and pedestals bearing basalt sculptures of Egyptian deities. They arrived at a room piled high with chests and sacks. Diomedes rummaged around and eventually handed Anatolius a sandalwood box of a size suitable for storing jewelry. Inside, Anatolius found a dozen stoppered, cylindrical clay bottles, none longer than his forefinger.
“That’s the master’s collection of pilgrim flasks, sir.”
Anatolius examined one. It sported a tiny handle on each side and bore an incised picture of a figure in a tunic standing between two camels. St. Menas was written above the scene in barely legible Greek letters. “How unusual! Do you know where he purchased these?”